


Miss Fisher, Miss Carter, and the Brackenstall Murder Case

by JeannetteRankin



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 1920s, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Girls with Guns, Guns, Implied/Referenced Animal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Ladies Defending Ladies, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannetteRankin/pseuds/JeannetteRankin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phryne Fisher decides to investigate the death of Sir Eustace Brackenstall, she gets an unexpected assist from the dead man's young relation: ten-year-old Peggy Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Fisher, Miss Carter, and the Brackenstall Murder Case

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is a Sherlock Holmes crossover as well, but I didn't tag it for that, because there is zero Holmes and zero Watson. The case part of this case!fic is from The Adventure of the Abbey Grange (both [the original story](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Adventure_of_the_Abbey_Grange) and the [Granada adaptation](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0685619/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2)) because it turns out I can't write a murder mystery to save my life. So I borrowed one of ACD's to play with.

“How did you find out about this, Miss Fisher?” Jack didn't bother trying to keep Phryne out of the crime scene, but his weary tone of voice spoke volumes.

“I have my ways,” was all she told him. “Shall we?” The house was large, and richly furnished, showing off the money and prestige of its owners. The front hall showed no signs of whatever tragedy had befallen its owners, except for the police presence.

As she went through into the dining room, she heard Hugh quietly ask Dot, “How _did_ she know about this?” It wasn't often that Phryne got to simply show up uninvited at a crime scene and take over all their fun. If it hadn't been for the eggs being rotten, and Mr. Butler making a last minute trip to the market, where he ran into the cook of one of the neighboring houses to the Brackenstalls, she might not have known about it at all.

“She said 'something dreadful' happened at the Brackenstalls' residence last night, and that the house was crawling with police this morning, ma'am,” he'd gravely reported while serving the newly-acquired eggs.

“Well, sounds promising. What do you think, Dot? Fancy a drive after breakfast?” Dot clearly hadn't, but she'd said yes, as always.

Their timing was impeccable. Just as Phryne was about to push through into the blocked-off dining parlor, a pair of burly fellows came out bearing a stretcher, with what were clearly human remains draped in a sheet.

“Just a moment,” she said, halting them. She lifted up a corner of the sheet.

“Miss Fisher—” Jack cautioned her, a moment too late. The sight was ghastly. Phryne managed to hold onto her composure, though she could feel the blood draining from her face. The corpse was a man, about forty, and had probably been good looking before someone had bashed his brains out. Now, his entire head was covered in blood and gore. A large section of his skull had been crushed, and there was brain matter and clotted blood spilling out.

Phryne let the sheet drop and the stretcher bearers continue. “No need to ask cause of death, then,” she observed, after swallowing hard.

“Ah, no,” Jack agreed. “I'm just going up to interview the lady of the house, who's recovering from her injuries. If you don't mind—” he was clearly about to suggest that she wait downstairs, or possibly leave altogether. It was really better to nip such objections in the bud, she'd found.

“Not at all,” she interrupted, in a chipper tone. “I'll go with you, of course,” she said as if she was doing him a favor. “Just upstairs, is she?” she asked, before leading the way.

A vaguely huffy Jack trailed behind her. Phryne badly wanted a look at that dining room, but she could hardly pass up the opportunity to speak to what sounded like a second victim. On the way up the large, sweeping front staircase, something caught her eye.

Peeking out from one of the side-doors on the front hall—in the opposite direction from the one where the dining room lay, thank goodness—was a little girl, about ten or eleven years old. She had a round, solemn-looking face, and two dark plaits hanging around her shoulders. For a moment, Phryne was painfully reminded of herself at that age.

When she smiled at the girl, she got the smallest flicker of a smile in return, before the girl disappeared behind the doorway. Phryne made a mental note: possible source of information. A clever child often saw much more than the adults around her would credit.

Lady Mary Brackenstall was a very young woman, and lately married. Phryne had never had the pleasure of meeting her, but several of her Aunt Prudence's acquaintances had spoken of her. She was reportedly a wild girl from Western Australia who had been brought up from nothing by her father's suddenly striking rich in some sort of mining.

Meeting her now, Phryne wondered how much of that talk she should put down to jealousy. Even exhausted and sporting the beginnings of a savage black eye, she was one of the most beautiful women Phryne had ever seen. She had blonde hair, that Phryne's practiced eye told her was natural, sparkling blue eyes, lovely clear skin, and an air of gracefulness about her.

“Lady Brackenstall?” Jack inquired softly from the door. They stepped into the airy, light, unmistakably feminine boudoir. The lady reclined on a divan while her maid, a stern-faced and rather spartan-looking woman, applied a cold compress to her eye.

“Yes. Are you the Inspector? Sorry I don't get up and greet you properly.”

“No, no, please don't trouble yourself” Jack waved the consideration aside, and Phryne was tickled to see that he appeared a little flushed. Clearly he wasn't immune to the lady's charms.

“I'm Phryne Fisher,” she put in, “I work with the police.” Jack gave her a sidelong glance at that. Phryne seated herself, ignoring him. “I'm so sorry for the terrible ordeal you've been through, Lady Brackenstall. If you could just tell us, in your own words, what happened last night.”

By that time Jack had regained control of himself and was ready with his notebook, peering earnestly at the lady as they waited for her to speak.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. She sat up, holding the compress to her injured eye as she spoke. “I'll tell you everything I can.”

Lady Brackenstall told them that she was originally from a small mining town in Western Australia, but had always wanted to travel. “Two years ago, I made a voyage to England, a present from my parents for my twenty-first birthday. I'd never been abroad before, and I suppose I was quite dazzled,” she admitted with a charming chagrin. “While there, I met Sir Eustace. He was witty, and sophisticated. To put it simply, I fell in love with him.” They'd married and returned to Australia, where he had some relations as well, to set up house.

“And,” Phryne asked, “forgive the question, but it was a happy marriage?”

“Yes,” the Lady returned. “There was only one shadow on our lives. I might as well tell you, because you're sure to pick it up from neighborhood gossips eventually.” Sir Eustace had been a drinker, and sometimes it got the better of him. “But it only drove him to low spirits, and he would always dry out again in a few days. Other than that, we were completely happy,” she insisted.

“And, last night?” Jack asked.

She gave an account of the crime, which pointed indisputably to the break-in being the work of the Randalls, a gang who was well known to police. The Randalls were a team of a father and two sons, and they'd broken into three other wealthy houses in Melbourne in the past six months.

As soon as the lady had told them everything, all the energy seemed to flow out of her. She lay back, grey and listless on her sofa.

The maid, Theresa, hurriedly ushered Phryne and Jack out of the room. “The poor thing needs rest. You've tired her out,” she scolded.

“Well, you must be disappointed,” Jack told Phryne when they were alone on the landing. “No great mystery to solve this time. It's just a matter of rounding up the Randalls. Now that they've added murder to their usual crimes, I dare say we'll have no trouble getting the manpower we need to lay hands on them.”

“All the same,” she said, “I'll just have a look at the dining room.”

“There's no need, there's nothing in there that isn't explained by the lady's story.”

“You never know,” she told him wryly.

Jack was called away at that moment by one of his officers, saving her from further arguments. In the downstairs hall, Phryne found Dot waiting for her, and told her what she meant to do. “Do you feel up to coming in with me?”

“I think so, Miss,” Dot replied, lifting her chin.

“Alright. Just remember, if you have to leave the room for a few minutes to regain your composure, there's no shame in that. Better duck out for some air than be sick all over the evidence.”

Dot flinched a little. “Yes, Miss.”

Phryne, after having seen the corpse, was prepared for the scene that lay on the other side of those oak doors. Dot did appear a bit queasy. She didn't rush out, however, so Phryne decided no further comment was necessary.

“Did Hugh tell you what happened?” Phryne asked as she started her perusal of the room. The wood-paneled walls long elegant dining table would have drawn the impressed eye of any visitor, if it hadn't been for the unmistakeable signs of recent violent death.

“Just that the master of the house was found murdered, and the lady had been beaten and tied up,” she gestured to the chair which was still draped in ropes.

Phryne made her way to the far wall, where the french doors lay. “According to Lady Brackenstall, she was checking the window shutters were locked for the night. This would have been about eleven o'clock, when a man suddenly pushed in through the door, here. He was a tall, large man with grey hair, and there were two others lurking behind him.” She could picture it in her mind's eye, the dark figure suddenly resolving out of the darkness, the moment of terror. “He must have been surprised, too, because his immediate response was to strike her, hard, across the face, rendering her unconscious instantly.”

“Poor thing,” Dot exclaimed.

“Yes, but it gets worse.” She made her way to the chair, where the ropes that had been used lay hanging loose. “She awoke tied to the chair and gagged, with three men still in the room, raiding the silver. It was then her husband came in.”

They both turned to the pool of congealed blood not far from the door. The poker was lying in it, showing a slight bend from the force of the blow.

“She saw the older man grab the poker and smash her husband over the head with it. Understandably, this caused her to faint again, and by the time she woke up, they were gone, leaving her tied there, with her husband's own blood on her dress.”

“That's...dreadful,” Dot said. And it was. They'd seen a lot of murders together by this time, but this one did have a certain edge of horror beyond the usual. “All that for a few pieces of silver?”

“Yes, that part is odd, isn't it?” Phryne said, thoughtfully. She looked at the silver cabinet. It was still half-full, though the plate was knocked about a bit. “Why didn't they take everything? Especially considering the trouble they'd gone through to get it.”

“And to think of her sitting there, with blood all over her.”

“Yes,” Phryne said, directing her attention to the chair and ropes. Something caught her eye. “That's strange.”

“What is?”

“These are sailor's knots,” she explained. The ropes must have been slipped off the lady, not untied, as the knots were still intact. “I doubt anyone who hadn't spent years aboard ship could make them.”

“How do you know that?” Dot asked.

Phryne smiled. “I've known a lot of sailors. And a few of them have shown me their knots,” she said, meaningfully.

Dot looked prim, as she always did when Phryne alluded to her romantic affairs. “I see.”

“Aha, look at this,” she exclaimed, eye suddenly catching on a detail. She pointed to a spot on the fabric-covered seat of the chair. “What would you say that is?”

“Why,” she replied after a moment, sounding puzzled. “It looks like blood.”

“And would you say, Dot,” Phryne went on with mounting excitement, “that it might have been made at the same time, and from the same source, as the blood spatters on the carpet?”

Dot dutifully bent to examine the carpet, eye it, then the chair, then back to the carpet again. “I suppose so. It looks like a spray of blood drops came in this direction, and some of them hit the chair.”

“It's not a smear that rubbed off there?”

“Certainly not.”

“And you see the problem?” 

With wide eyes, she answered, “if Lady Brackenstall was sitting here...”

“Then,” Phryne said, decisively, “how did blood from her husband's wound spatter onto that chair?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means we have a case. I don't know what happened in this room last night, but we're going to find out.” Phryne felt the familiar thrill of the chase run up her spine. She was pleased to see Dot nodding determinedly. “We'll start with the household. I'll talk to the little girl. You see if you can have a chat with the maid, try and find out anything you can about that trip to England, but be sure to stay on her good side. We need to act quickly. Oh, and, Dot?” she added, seeing the girl about to march off on her assigned duty. “Not a word of this to Jack or Hugh, or any of the police.”

“Why not, Miss?” She seemed taken aback.

“Call it a hunch. I have a feeling we don't want to get the official police in on this, not quite yet.”

“Well, alright, then, if you say so.”

“Thank you, Dot.”

The little girl she'd spotted earlier wasn't too hard to find. Phryne caught a glimpse of her though the dining room windows, in the back garden. She stepped out through the french doors, trying to shake off the unease of following in the murderer's footsteps.

The girl, in her blue frock and muddy shoes, was standing with a small pile of rocks at her feet, practicing with a slingshot.

“Good shot,” Phryne called out, after watching her take careful aim and hit the knot of a tree.

The girl whirled around. Seeing her up close, Phryne could see she was a sturdy-built thing with scars on her knees and a few bruises on one arm. She had the look of a child who was always on the brink of doing something rash and getting in trouble for it. Phryne liked her at once.

“Who are you?” she asked warily.

“Phryne Fisher,” she said promptly, taking out one of her cards and handing it over.

“Lady Detective,” the girl read, then stared up at Phryne with an impressed look. “I didn't know there were lady detectives. Is that because it's Australia?” The girl's accent was pure London. 

“Well, there are certain things it's easier to get away with here than back in England, for a woman of independent mind,” Phryne deferred. “Are you a relation of the Brackenstalls?”

“Yes, I'm Peggy Carter,” the girl told her. They shook hands. “Sir Eustace is my mother's cousin. After he got married Cousin Mary wrote to my mother and invited me to come stay.” She didn't sound too happy about this.

“Well, Peggy Carter, I'm dreadfully sorry about Sir Eustace's death.”

Peggy shrugged, as if her cousin's death didn't bother her. “I'm sorry Cousin Mary got hurt,” she was her only reply. “Is she alright? Mrs. Latimer said she woke up, but wouldn't let me go see her.”

“Yes, I've just spoken with her. She's banged up a bit, but she'll be fine. She's strong.”

“I know she is,” Peggy told her.

“You like her better than Sir Eustace, even though he's your cousin,” Phryne observed. 

“I hated Sir Eustace,” the girl said abruptly. “I hated him, and so did Cousin Mary.”

“That's not true,” Phryne said, even though she was fairly sure it was true. “Lady Brackenstall just told me all about how they had a happy marriage.”

“On the outside, she acted happy,” Peggy almost growled. She grabbed another rock off the ground and used her slingshot to fling it at the house, hitting a small decorative flourish on the woodwork. “But he was mean to her; he was a drunk and a bully.”

It might have just been a childhood dislike of a stern older relative, but somehow Phryne didn't think so. “I detest bullies,” was all she said in reply.

“Me too,” was the forceful reply from the girl. She eyed Phryne as if deciding whether to trust her. “And you know she used to have a pet dog? She wrote about it in the letter inviting me here, saying I could play with him when I arrived.”

“There's no dog?” Phryne asked, an uneasy feeling stirring.

“I overheard Theresa one night, when they thought I'd gone to bed, talking about it. Sir Eustace and Cousin Mary had an argument a little while back. He'd been drinking, and he got so mad, he threw petrol on the dog, and lit it on fire.” Peggy's round, freckled little face had an unchildlike grimness as she reported this.

“He burned the dog alive?” Phryne asked in mounting horror.

Peggy nodded. “That's what Theresa said. And she said that Sir Eustace said he'd do the same thing to Cousin Mary if she crossed him.”

“That's horrible,” Phryne said, her voice catching as she pictured the scene. She'd known men who were violent toward their families, and despised every one as a coward. 

“And now it's even worse. First her terrible husband beats her. And now robbers break in and attack her.” Peggy squared her little shoulders. “But I'll keep her safe.”

“With your slingshot?” she asked, not sure whether showing skepticism was a wise move around an emotionally delicate child with a predilection for violence.

“No. I have plan.”

“A plan to do _what_ , exactly,” Phryne asked, archly.

Peggy raised one eyebrow at her, and turned and went into the house. Phryne followed. The girl lead the way to a ground floor study that must have belonged to the late Sir Eustace. There was a great big mahogany desk dominating one side of the room, of the sort that mediocre men thought made them look like important, erudite men. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and on one side was a glass-fronted display case, full of hunting trophies and several guns.

Without hesitation, Peggy went around the desk and disappeared beneath it.  
  
“Peggy?”

“One moment. There's a secret compartment down here.” Of course the child knew about the secret compartment. When Phryne had been that age, she'd known every secret of every house she'd stayed at, too. A moment latter, Peggy's dark head popped up. “Got it,” she announced, holding up a key. She then proceeded to the display case, unlocked it, and, to Phryne's mounting unease, took down one of the shotguns, holding it in both hands. She turned back to Phryne with a defiant look. “If those robbers come back tonight, I'll shoot them dead.”

_Oh, child_ , Phryne thought to herself. But she didn't think pity was the right tack to take in this case. “Do you know how to use that?” she asked calmly, instead of any of the many other thoughts that sprang to mind.

“Sir Eustace was an idiot, and he could shoot, so I should be able to figure it out,” she replied with a lift of her chin. 

Phryne let out a small sigh. She could so easily envision this going wrong. She didn't want to hear later that the child had blown her hand off trying to re-load, or that she'd shot the groundskeeper by mistake. Ignorance, guns, and excitability were not a good mixture. “I don't suppose there's any talking you out of this plan, is there?” she asked.

Peggy shook her head, plaits bouncing. “And if you try to tell Mrs. Latimer, I'll just say you were lying, and I'll hide the key somewhere only I can find it. Then I'll do my plan anyway.”

She pursed her lips and contemplated the girl. “Alright, then. I suppose if I can't stop you, I'd better help you. If you'll let me.”

“Help me?” Peggy asked, eyes widening. 

“Yes, I'll show you how to load a gun and how to shoot if you like.”

“You know how to shoot?” The young voice was full of skepticism. “But you're a rich, grown up lady.”

“Never stopped me from operating a gun before,” Phryne opened her handbag, and pulled out her gold plated Smith & Wesson, just enough for Peggy to see it before she placed it back inside.

“Well, alright. Show me, then,” Peggy allowed. Then added, “please.”

“Since you said 'please,'” Phryne told her wryly. “Alright.” 

Closing the library door, lest anyone should come in and catch them at it, Phryne took down a smallish revolver from the cabinet and explained why it would be a better choice than the shotgun for a person with shorter (she refrained from pointing out  _weaker_ ) arms . Then she showed her how to load the bullets, how the firing mechanism worked, and explained that she must never, ever point it at a person unless it was someone she was prepared to kill. Peggy listened to everything with all her little soul in her eyes.

“Now, let's go over aiming.”

“I know how to aim,” Peggy protested. “You saw what a good shot I am.”

“Aiming with a slingshot is a little different than with a gun. If you want to be as good with a gun as you are with that thing, you'll listen to me.”

“Yes, Miss Fisher,” she said, chastened.

She had the girl stand, facing one of the walls of books, which should be enough to prevent any dangerous stray bullets if it accidentally went off.

“Now, hold the gun with both hands like I showed you.” Peggy lifted it with admirable steadiness. “That's right. Now, when you fire, a small explosion is going off inside the gun. It's enough to send the bullet flying that way very, very fast, so it's also strong enough to push the gun back towards you.”

“Like when my slingshot snaps back. It hit me in the eye once.”

“Same idea, yes, only much stronger. So before you aim, you have to have strong shoulders.” She placed her hands over the girls shoulders. “You have to plant your feet, and _feel_ them where they are connected to the earth.”

“They're on the floor,” Peggy protested.

“Peggy, there's no need to be quite so literal,” Phryne informed her.

“Sorry,” Peggy replied, with a smiling quirk to her mouth.

“Now, holding it steadily, you look along the barrel at the thing you want to shoot. Use the little notch to line up. Aim at, let's see—” She paused, then spotted, on one of the shelves, a framed photograph of Sir Eustace. That would do. “Aim at that little picture frame. That's good. Line it up, but when you fire, don't look at the gun, look at the target.” 

Peggy's eyes shone with determination. She glared at the photograph as if it were the real Sir Eustace risen from the dead and threatening her Cousin Mary all over again.

“Good. Now here's the most important thing. If you ever have to fire a gun in real life, you're firing to kill. There's no firing to graze someone or to knock a glass out of their hand, like in the stories.”

“But Annie Oakley could shoot a cigarette out of a man's mouth! I read it in the newspaper,” Peggy complained.

“Yes, but that's in a show, when no one's coming at her, and there's no real danger. If Annie Oakley were in a real life-and-death situation, she would aim squarely at the person's chest,” she said each word carefully, willing them to impress on the girl. Peggy nodded, looking thoughtful. “When you have to fire, there's nothing else in the world but you and your target. Don't let anything distract you, that's why most people miss. I don't care if the room is on fire around you, when you're pointing that gun at a person, they and you are the only two things in the world.”

She saw the girl nod again, without taking her eyes off the picture frame. “Good,” Phryne told her, squeezing her shoulders one last time, then releasing them. She went on in a lighter tone. “I won't have you do it here, because I don't want to ruin Lady Brackenstall's excellent bookshelves, but, once you've done all that, it's just a matter of squeezing the trigger.”

“Can I try it, please?” asked Peggy, all at once sounding like the little girl she was.

“Not today,” Phryne told her. “But maybe, sometime, I'll get a chance to take you somewhere for real practice. Out of doors. In the meantime, no shooting on your own, alright?”

“Unless it's life-and-death,” Peggy put in.

“Precisely,” Phryne agreed.

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Dot entered. “Miss Fisher? The housekeeper said you were in—” she started when she saw Peggy with the gun, who was now putting it carefully back into the case.

“Yes, Dot? Were you able to find out anything about that voyage?”

“Yes, Miss,” Dot said, clearly swallowing back whatever comment she'd been about to make about little girls and guns. “Theresa Wright had gone with Lady Brackenstall—Miss Mary Frasier, then—they left in May two years ago, and sailed on the North Star Line. She told me all about it. Theresa hated England, and was quite happy to come back, though she complained bitterly of the service being inferior on the return trip.”

“Splendid, Dot! Good work,” Phryne cried, truly impressed.

Dot fidgeted a little, pleased. “Thank you, Miss.”

“Well, then, that's half our work done for us. Now let's go,” she said firmly, heading for the exit.

“Go where, Miss?”

“To the offices of the North Star Line, of course.” 

“You're leaving?” Peggy asked plaintively, following them as Phryne briskly made for the front hall.

“Yes, I'm afraid so,” Phryne told her, without stopping. “You can't solve a murder by staying in one place, you know.”

They did have to pause in the entryway for their coats, and Peggy helpfully held Phryne's hat, then handed it to her.

“Remember what I told you?” Phryne asked the girl. “Please don't go shooting off that gun in the house unless it's a dire emergency, and stick to the slingshot for practice.”

Peggy nodded, though she didn't look too happy. “Will you come back?” she asked.

“Oh, I'm certain you and I will be seeing each other again, Peggy Carter,” Phryne told her, giving her a smile as she plucked the hat out of her hands.

The girl watched them out to the car from the doorway. Not waving, just watching them all the way out of sight.

“Is it wise to encourage her like that, with a gun?” Dot couldn't seem to help asking as they drove away.

“Trust me, Dot, with a child like that, giving them knowledge is the best thing to do. They'd only get their own way anyhow, and cause who knows how much chaos in the process.”

“You'd know about that, Miss,” Dot told her, wryly.

Phryne only smiled as she drove.

Once they reached the North Star Line office, it took a great deal of flirtation and a little gentle bullying before they got what they wanted. But after a few hours, they were able to return home, triumphant, with the needed information.

Over a well deserved spot of tea and sandwiches, Phryne laid out what they knew of the case for Dot.

“So, once we discovered the blood on the chair, I was certain that Lady Brackenstall was lying. That description she gave of the Randalls probably came out of the newspaper. Their history is publicly known and none of them have a nautical background.”

“And you knew it was a sailor from the knots,” Dot recalled. “So it was a sailor from the North Star Line who stole the silver and killed Sir Eustace?”

Phryne sat back in her chair, pondering the question. “Oh, I'm certain one of their sailors was there, alright. But why would she lie, risking a criminal investigation against herself, to protect him? And why did she lie about Sir Eustace, telling us they had a happy marriage, when he was a perfect beast to her? That's the question.”

“Search me, Miss.”

“Well,” Phryne said in sudden decision. “Tomorrow, we'll go back to the house. I'd like another crack at Lady Brackenstall, and there may be some clues we can uncover there without the police hanging about.”

“You still don't want to tell them about what we're investigating?” Dot asked, biting her lip. 

“I know you're not in the habit of keeping secrets from Hugh,” Phryne observed. “But in this case, I have a feeling honesty may lead us down a more dangerous road than a few simple...omissions.”

Dot thought it over. “Alright, I won't say anything about it for now. I hope you're right about this, though.”

*

The next day, Mrs. Latimer, the housekeeper, willingly let them back into the house, after Phryne's assurances that she was here to speak to Lady Brackenstall to help solve the crime. It was a slight exaggeration when she told her that she'd been sent by the police. But it got her inside the house.

She was told that Lady Brackenstall could not be seen quite yet, but that if she would wait for half an hour, someone would take her upstairs. This suited Phryne's purposes just fine. As soon as the housekeeper left her alone in the front parlor, she wasted no time.

Heading back into the dining parlor, she examined the scene. In deference to police orders, they hadn't cleaned or moved anything yet, which was perfect. Phryne put herself in the shoes of whoever had been in the house that night. If she was right, and the real motive had had nothing to do with the silver, then the theft had been a mere blind. If she had been carrying a sack of purloined silver that she didn't really care about, what would she have done with it? Gone back out the french door, of course.

Carrying her imaginary load of treasure, Phryne opened the door and stepped out into the cool wintry sunshine. She found herself again in the back garden of the house. Examining the scene in front of her, she took in the carefully trimmed bushes and lawns, and the little duck pond.

“You did come back,” came a voice from nearby. Phryne turned and, sure enough, there was little Peggy, in a pink dress this time, but otherwise looking exactly the same.

“I said I would. Any intruders since yesterday?”

“No,” Peggy said, shaking her head seriously. “I waited up all night to make sure. Or, well, I was going to, but I think I fell asleep after all.”

“Well, that can happen to even the bravest of sentries,” Phryne told her, absently. Her eyes were drawn to that pond at the bottom of the garden. Her feet started to carry her toward it, Peggy following along behind, watching her keenly.

It was a little garden pond, not too large, but quite murky and possibly deep. Surrounded by reeds most of the way around. Phryne's intuition positively tingled.

“Would you like to help me with something?” she turned and asked Peggy.

“Yes,” the girl said, eagerly. “What is it?”

“I think whoever broke into this house two nights ago might have thrown something into that pond. Do you know if there's a long pole somewhere we could use to fish it out?”

“Hmm,” Peggy rubbed her chin with one hand, the other on her hip. “Well, we can check the gardener's shed.”

In the shed, they found a serviceable-looking rake. “That should do,” declared Peggy, and trotted off with it back toward the pond.

Phryne stood by, ready to step in only if needed, as Peggy dredged the little pond with the rake. It was too large for her, of course, but she seemed determined to do it.

“I think there's something down there,” Peggy said after a minute or so. “It banged on something.” Phryne joined her and, after a few tries, they managed to snag one of the tines of the rake on something that felt solid. They both grabbed the rake and dragged it to the shore. It was a cloth bundle of some kind.

“You're quite strong,” Peggy told the girl.

“Thanks,” Peggy said, “I play rugby at school.”

Phryne knelt next to the package, and Peggy followed, doing the same on the other side. “What do you see?” she asked.

“Well, it's a bundle. It looks like someone tied something heavy up in an old tablecloth and bound it with twine. But why?” she asked, keen dark eyes peering up at Phryne with interest.

“My guess is, someone was trying to hide something. That's the first thing that came to my mind when I saw this very convenient little pond. It can't have been in the water very long judging by the condition, so I have a hunch what we'll find in it,” Phryne pulled out her pocketknife and cut the twine, carefully leaving the knots intact. She hadn't missed the fact that these were sailors' knots as well. When she slowly unwrapped the bundle, she was not disappointed by what fell out of it.

“That's the stolen silver!” Peggy exclaimed. “Why would they steal it only to dump it in the garden pond?”

“I'm going to find out. Do you know where the telephone is and how to use it?”

“Yes, Miss Fisher.”

“Good, then please go tell the housekeeper to come down here, and after that, I want you to immediately call the police station and speak to Inspector Jack Robinson.” She told her the telephone exchange. “Tell him Miss Fisher says he'd better get over here. Got that?” she asked. Peggy proudly repeated back her instructions, including Jack's name and number. “Good girl. Off with you, now.” The girl ran off like a shot, putting those rugby legs to good use.

Phryne waited for a few minutes for the housekeeper, and had plenty of time to decide what to do. This wasn't a case she could come at straight on. She didn't like keeping things from Jack; he always sensed it and became grumpier than usual with her when she did. There was one last method which might clear the whole thing up and render secrecy unnecessary, and as soon as the housekeeper arrived, she would employ it straight away.

After showing Mrs. Latimer what she'd found, and impressing on her the need to keep it where it was, untouched, for police evidence— “this might help them catch the man who attacked Lady Brackenstall”—Phryne abruptly left the woman there and went straight upstairs to the Lady's room.

Like yesterday, Lady Brackenstall was sitting on the divan, though now she was sitting up and having tea.

“Excuse me, I'm so sorry to intrude,” Phryne began, coming into the room.

“Miss Fisher, wasn't it?” the lady said, seeming a little taken aback. “Can I help you with something?”

“I hope so, Lady Brackenstall, I dearly hope so. I have to ask you something vitally important that I hope will help clear up this whole business.” Phryne watched the lady's face as she spoke, but she gave nothing away. 

“Well, if I can be of any help, of course,” she gestured for Phryne to be seated. “But I would have thought I gave you and that inspector a pretty full account yesterday. I don't see what else I can add.”

“I want to tell you,” Phryne began, in her gentlest tone, “that I'm here now, not as an agent of the police, but as a friend. What we say here is not for the official record, and I hope you can be honest with me.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” Those pretty blue eyes grew wary.

“I simply want you to tell me what happened the night before last in this house.” She held up a hand to forestall the lady's reaction. “What _really_ happened, I mean. I know that your original story was a complete fabrication.”

Lady Brackenstall blushed, and looked angry. “Really, Miss Fisher! This is a bit much.”

“It won't do,” Phryne said, shaking her head. “I've seen all the evidence, and soon the police will have seen enough that they might come to the same conclusion I have. If you take me into your confidence, and tell me the truth, now, then we can work out what to do, together. If not...” she trailed off.

For a moment, she thought the girl was wavering. But then, in an instant, her eyes went flinty once more. “I've told you all I can.”

Phryne sighed and stood to go. “If you change your mind, I'll leave my card downstairs. But it won't be long now. Somehow or other, the truth must come out.”

Lady Brackenstall didn't meet her eyes, and merely sat in stony silence until Phryne was out of the room.

On the landing, Phryne all but stepped on Peggy, who'd been stationed right outside the door. Phryne raised an eyebrow at her obvious eavesdropping. Peggy only frowned in response.

Her short, pink-clad shadow followed her down into the front hall.

“You called Cousin Mary a liar,” Peggy accused.

“Yes, I did, which you wouldn't have heard if you hadn't been listening at doors.” The child's mulish expression didn't change a jot. “Peggy,” Phryne went on in a gentler voice. “I do think your cousin is keeping something from me. But you also heard me tell her I'm on her side?”

Peggy nodded.

“Good, because I am. I think she's afraid of something, and I'm not sure what. There's something she doesn't want to tell me, but I have to find out the truth. I promise I'm not doing it to hurt her, but I have to investigate.”

“Alright.” She still didn't look very happy. “Are you done investigating for now?”

“Not quite, but there's nothing more I can do here, for the moment.” And if possible, she wanted to get away before Jack arrived and started asking awkward questions about how she knew to look for the silver in the pond. “Were you able to get Inspector Robinson on the telephone?”

“Yes,” Peggy told her. “And he said he'd come over to take a look as soon as he could, but it might be a little while,” she dutifully recited. 

“Did he say anything else?”

“He said that I wasn't to let you be a bad influence on me,” Peggy told her, grinning.

Phryne laughed. “I don't think he understands young girls very well at all, poor man. Well, thank you for your assistance with the silver, Miss Carter,” she reached out her hand and shook Peggy's smaller one. “I've a few things to do to finish clearing up this matter, so I'd better be off.”

“Can I come with you? You know, I could help you more with your investigation,” Peggy said, her eyes pleading.

Phryne pretended to think it over. It couldn't hurt to give the girl a little encouragement. “I suppose we could use your help,” Phryne told her, fibbing only a little. But she had the next few hours free, and nothing interesting would happen with the case until later in the evening. “Why don't we go and ask the housekeeper if you can come home and have tea with us?”

Phryne explained to Mrs. Latimer that she'd like to invite Peggy over for tea, because it had been so long since she'd had anyone to talk about England with. And no, it wasn't any trouble, and she'd have her driver, Bert, bring her back in a few hours. Peggy stood by her side during this conversation with a patently false look of pure innocence on her face. The housekeeper, probably all to happy to be rid of a troublesome child for the afternoon, agreed readily.

The ride in the car back to the house seemed to thrill the girl beyond belief. “How fast can this thing go?” she asked, breathlessly, head hanging over the side. Phryne laughed and revved the engine a little just for her.

When they arrived at the house, Phryne left Peggy with Dot in the kitchen so that she could conduct some urgent business with Bert.

It only took a few moments for her to write the message out and dispatch Bert to the telegram office, with the strictest instructions to send it top priority.

She also requested that he and Ces be in the house at eight o'clock that evening, just in case they were needed.

That done, she returned to the girls in the kitchen, to find them happily eating biscuits and chatting. Dot was asking Peggy about London.

“They say it's the biggest city in the world,” Dot was saying, in that tone of distant wonder that she got when describing any place outside of the immediate environs of Melbourne.

Peggy shrugged. “I guess it's pretty big. But New York has all the skyscrapers. It has the tallest building ever built!” She all but bounced in her seat as she said it.

“Have you been there?” Phryne asked, sitting down and taking a biscuit for her own.

“No,” Peggy answered. “I've only been to London and one time to Paris, and then here. I want to go, though. I heard they have women police officers there who carry guns and everything.”

“That's quite true,” Phryne answered. She saw that both Dot and Peggy were interested, so she went on and told them about the time she and Mac had spent a week in New York after the war, and had a run-in with some lady officers who had seemed intent on enforcing prohibition, and thus ruining everyone's fun.

Throughout the story she noticed Peggy looking, furtively, at her face a few times. Finally, after Phryne'd done explaining how she'd talked them out of an overnight jail stay, the girl came out with it. “Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable,” the girl told her in a serious tone.

Phryne matched her tone for tone. “Of course. You can always ask me anything, though there may be a few things I choose not to answer.”

Peggy nodded, as if she approved of Phryne's sensible reply. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

Unconsciously, she raised the fingertips of one hand to touch her mouth. “Why, yes, I am. I generally do. I like it, and I think it's quite stylish, don't you?” Dot was looking back and forth between the two of them.

Peggy nodded. “Yes I do. I was wondering,” she let a pause ensue, and Phryne waited patiently. “Could you show me how to wear it?” the question came out at last in a rush.

Phryne grinned at the girl's eager expression. “I don't see why not.”

She'd never given a makeup lesson before, but Peggy proved an adept pupil. She listened with her most serious face on, looking as if she was learning the secrets to life itself. In comparing the two, Phryne thought she might actually be listening harder than she had during the shooting lesson.

A half hour later, when Dot came in to check on them, Peggy was examining the result in the mirror of Phryne's vanity. She had almost flawless deep red lips, enacted under Phryne's tutelage.

“Isn't she a bit young for that, Miss?” Dot asked in a strangled voice, coming in to check on them.

“Well, I suppose you're right. No need to give your father a heart attack, Peggy. Promise me you won't wear this out of doors until you're fifteen, at least.”

“And if I wear it when I'm fifteen, then he won't have heart attack?” Peggy asked, eyes still on the mirror, touching up the edges.

“Well,” Phryne said, re-thinking it. “Well, no, he probably will...”

The phone rang, and Dot left to answer it. Phryne was called down to come to the line. “Go ahead and try the powder,” she told Peggy, leaving the girl to explore the wonders of modern cosmetics.

The phone call pleased Phryne greatly. Everything was falling exactly into place, and she should have this mystery wrapped up and out of sight before Jack and his men stumbled into anything like the correct result.

She called Dot down to the front parlor, and let her know that, instead of one visitor coming at eight o'clock, they could expect two.

“It's already near seven, Miss,” Dot told her, looking at the mantle clock.

“Good lord, so it is. Alright, go and fetch Peggy, would you? We'll have Bert and Ces get her home so we can get ready for our other guests.”

Peggy came into the room, trailing Dot, and having evidently, by her face, found the powder _and_ the rouge. “Did I do it right?” she asked, beaming.

“The lipstick is excellent,” Phryne told her, smiling at her enthusiasm. “The powder's a little heavy, but not bad at all for a first try.” Peggy nodded, touching her cheek with one hand. “You might want to wash your face before you go, though, or else the housekeeper will only make you do it when you get home.”

Peggy opened her mouth—to argue, by the looks of it—when they were all startled by a violent pounding at the door.

“Miss?” Dot asked with big eyes. 

The pounding repeated itself, and they could hear someone shouting “Open up in there!”

Phryne gave Dot a sharp glance and jerked her head. Dot, bless her soul, understood immediately and snatched Peggy back to the corner of the room behind the sofa. Phryne had just time enough to fetch her gun and put it on one the end table, behind a vase, in case she would need it.

Before Mr. Butler could do more than open the door, whoever it was flung the door back so it banged against the entry wall.

A huge man stormed into the parlor. He was well over six feet tall, his face was red with rage, and he clutched a crumpled telegram in one fist. “Where is Fisher?” the man demanded, with what Phryne found an excess of discourtesy. Mr. Butler appeared behind the man in the doorway and by the look in his face, was about ready to attempt throwing the man out by the collar. Phryne shook her head at him ever so slightly and he stayed put.

Phryne held perfectly still where she stood in the middle of the room, facing down the intruder. “You are a man of many talents, Captain Crocker. But evidently _telling time_ is not one of them. You weren't invited here until eight o'clock.” Damn the man.

“I wan't likely to sit around while this P. Fisher makes threats against the woman I—” he cut off the sentence. 

“The woman you love,” Phryne continued for him. “The woman you're risking a murder charge for at this very moment. I'm Phryne Fisher, and I sent you that message, Captain.”

“And what, exactly, did you mean by it?” He shook the piece of paper clenched in his fist and advanced on her, menacingly. He came right up to her and put his angry face only a few inches from hers. Phryne had faced down scarier men than this, and she was about to open her mouth to tell him so, when she was forestalled.

“You!” A slightly shaky, high-pitched voice came from behind her. “Get away from her!”

They turned to see Peggy, her face pink with either rage or fear, holding Phryne's gun and pointing it directly at Jack Crocker's chest. She'd stepped in front of Dot defensively, and must have snatched the gun from the end table. Her face, if Phryne was any judge, had more murder in it than Crocker's did at that moment. Dot looked panicked; she clearly had no idea what to make of her erstwhile defender.

“Peggy,” she said carefully. Startling the girl would be the worst thing possible right at this exact moment. “Good work on the gun, thank you for protecting Dot. You can go ahead and hold onto it, but point it at the floor for the moment, would you?” She made a lowering gesture. Peggy hesitated a moment, then obediently lowered it until it was pointing at the carpet. Phryne saw her hands tremble a bit. “Good girl. And keep it there, unless Captain Crocker expresses any further inclination for violent behavior, alright?” 

“Yes, Miss Fisher,” she answered with the crispness of a soldier following an order.

“Now, Captain,” she addressed the man, who was standing across the room. The wind seemed to have gone out of his sails a bit by having been outgunned a primary schooler. He looked almost bewildered. “Calm yourself, sit, and we will have a little talk.” Phryne nodded to Mr. Butler in the doorway, letting him know they'd be alright and he could go. Phryne waited.

The intruder breathed deep and seemed to take himself in hand. Phryne examined him. He was tall and strong, with a handsome face and the characteristic broad shoulders and sturdy arms of his profession. If he were here for any other reason...Phryne put that thought out of her mind. It wouldn't do to go fantasizing about a suspected murderer. But a girl could still look, couldn't she?

Finally, he sat on the sofa and glowered up at her. Phryne sat across from him, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dot urging Peggy to sit on the divan, though she noted Peggy didn't relinquish the gun. “What is it you want, then?” the captain asked, gruffly but in a much more civilized tone. She suspected he had good manners under ordinary circumstances.

“What I want is quite simple,” she told him. “I want a complete and truthful account of what happened at the Brackenstalls' house two nights ago. It will do you no good to lie. As I'm sure you've already guessed, I know the major points,” she indicated the telegram in his hands, which had included just enough detail to be sure of bringing him here. “If you tell me the complete truth, I may yet be able to help you, and your lady friend. If you try and trick me, or leave anything out to shield yourself or her,” she paused meaningfully and looked him in the eye, “I will crush you.”

He clenched his jaw, and his fist, but didn't make any move that would have had her pint-size bodyguard taking aim at him again.

“Cigarette?” she offered, holding out her case. 

“Thank you,” he said shortly, taking and lighting one. When he sucked in a deep drag on it and leaned back, he finally began. “Well enough. You've caught me fair and square. I can see that you already know enough to send me to the gallows. I don't know why you haven't gone to the police with it all, but there's no point in lying. I'll tell you my story. What have I to be ashamed of? It was the best night's work of my life, hand to god, and I'd do it all again if I have to swing for it!” 

He was full of passions, this one, Phryne reflected as she sat back, preparing to hear the tale. “Go on,” was all she said.

“I met Mary Frasier—I won't call her by that bastard's name—two years ago, while she was on a sea voyage to England. I was first mate then, on my last ship. Weeks we were together, at sea. But it didn't take weeks for me to fall in love with her. More like a quarter of an hour. She didn't feel the same. It was all friendship on her side, and pure love on mine.”

“And you weren't upset by this?” Phryne raised an eyebrow at him. She'd known enough men for whom that alone would be reason enough to kill.

“She treated me perfectly fairly, I've no complaint. She was rich, and beautiful. And what could I offer her? No, we parted in England and I supposed that would be the end of it. Not a day has passed since then that I haven't thought of her, but I never regretted our parting, not until one month ago.” He paused, swallowing.

“When you returned to Melbourne, and got your promotion.”

He startled. “You have done the job properly, haven't you? Yes, I put ashore and was promoted to captain, but the ship wouldn't be ready for a month, so here I was at loose ends. Then, one day, I met Theresa Wright in the city one morning. I'd seen in the papers when Mary had been married. She married a rich English lord, and why not? If it made her happy, that was what I cared about. Do you believe me? That's how much I loved her, that thinking of her happily married made me happy.”

“So far, I believe you” Phryne told him, honestly. “But everything changed after you heard Theresa Wright's account of what that marriage was like.”

“On your life, it did!” His eyes darkened. “Theresa had always liked me well enough, and she told me everything, how Brackenstall beat his wife, threatened her, and worse—” he cut himself off, eyes darting toward Dot and Peggy still keeping a sharp eye on him. “In short, he mistreated her in every way a man can. Such cruelty against a girl as soft and loving as Mary—even now it makes me crazy to think about it, even with him dead and gone for good.”

“But what could you do? She was bound to him.”

He sighed, his broad chest heaving. “That's what Mary said, too. She agreed to meet with me once, then again. She didn't try to deny what that monster was doing to her, but she said there was nothing either of us could do. Then she wouldn't meet me any more. But a few days ago, I got my orders that I was to sail on Sunday, and I had to at least get a glimpse of her once more before I left. I won't be back for at least a year and I had to—I had to leave her with my love, whether she could return it or not.”

Phryne felt for him, but at the same time couldn't help thinking how like a man it was to let his feelings run away with him and do something so foolish. “So you sneaked up to the house two nights ago—to the window, where you knew you could get in.”

“Yes. And I saw her. She wasn't too pleased that I'd come uninvited. But when I told her I was leaving, I could tell she felt something for me. She didn't want me to go, and even if she'd never say the reason why, at least that was something. I would take that with me. I was on the point of leaving again, when that brute came into the room.”

“He was displeased to find you alone with his wife.”

“He was the very devil himself. He called her every name in the book. It made my blood boil to hear such things about a girl as true as any I've ever met in my life. And then, when she tried to calm him down, he struck her such a blow across the face.” He shuddered. “It could have killed her. For a moment I thought it had. She was out like a light, and the next moment he was coming at me. He swung, I dodged it. We fought. It didn't take long, drunk as he was. He had a big cane that he used to try and hit me, so I grabbed the poker, and that was that.” 

Phryne sighed. He'd told the truth. Every bit of it added up. “You hit him over the head with the poker, and he died instantly.” He nodded. “And then, when Lady Brackenstall came to, the two of you made up this story about break-in.”

“The three of us,” he corrected. “Theresa came up with it as much as I did. We went over it again and again. I got the rope, tied her up, then took the silver and dunked it in the pond. I knew she might be taken up as an accomplice if I'd run for it, so it had to be perfect.” His cigarette was down to its nub. He put it out in the ash tray. “And I thought it was good enough to fool the police.”

“I daresay it was,” Phryne told him. Her heart went out to the man, and she thought of the lengths she herself had gone to to protect those she loved. “You may have noticed, you're not in the police station,” she waved her arm around to indicate her parlor.

“What do you want, then?” He was much calmer now, almost relieved that the whole story was out in the open. “I've given you the truth. I swear by God, that's everything. So now tell me, what did you mean by bringing me here?”

Phryne considered, taking her time. “Yes, I believe you have told me the truth. Here's what—” she broke off, hearing the ring at the doorbell. She tensed for a moment, falling silent while Mr. Butler again went to the door. The whole room held still, all of them waiting. When the door was open, Phryne heard the voice of their caller and relaxed. “She's early, too. Really, this sort of excessive punctuality is quite rude.”

Crocker, doubtless recognizing it as well, leapt to his feet as Lady Mary Brackenstall entered the room.

The reunion between the two was tender. “Mary,” he said, softly, reaching out to take one of her hands in both of his and cradling it against his chest. She said nothing, only smiled up at him and reached up to caress his face.

“Cousin Mary,” Peggy said in surprise.

“Peggy,” the lady exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Are you alright?”

“I came to have tea with Miss Fisher,” the girl explained. “What are _you_ doing here?” She looked at Phryne for an explanation

“Lady Brackenstall called me earlier to say that she'd changed her mind,” Phryne explained. “She told me that I was right, she _had_ been protecting someone, and she would come to tell me the whole story and ask my help in ensuring that the person she was protecting would be safe.”

Lady Brackenstall moved slightly away from Crocker, though she let him keep her hand in his. “That's right, Miss Fisher. And I suspect you know everything by now. But whatever you're going to do to Jack, I intend to share his fate.”

“Mary,” Crocker exclaimed, his face pained. But at her look, he fell silent. 

“It's only right,” the lady went on. “We caused this together, and we'll sink or swim together.”

“Even if that means a murder charge?” Phryne asked. She heard Peggy gasp, and Crocker winced. Lady Brackenstall, however, didn't change her level gaze as she met Phryne's eyes.

“That's right,” she declared.

“Oh, don't, Miss Fisher,” came an exclamation from Peggy. “Don't send them up for murder.” Dot looked horrified, but at the idea, or at Peggy's outburst, she couldn't say.

“And why not? Tell me why I shouldn't tell the police everything I know about your cousin and her friend,” Phryne asked the girl, cooly.

Peggy stood up and gingerly laid the gun down on the table. “Because he did it to protect her. You told me a woman has a right to protect herself; isn't that true even if the person is her husband?” Phryne said nothing. “And Sir Eustace might have killed her, just like he killed the dog.” Phryne noticed Mary look ill at the mention of that horrible episode. “So,” she went on, laying out the case with impeccable logic, “if she can protect herself, and this man only hit Sir Eustace out of self defense, then they haven't done anything wrong.”

“I agree.”

“What?” Phryne had the pleasure of hearing the exclamation from at least two people at the same time.

“I was merely testing Lady Brackenstall's resolve. I think Peggy's quite right,” she told them. “I don't see that you've done anything wrong, and so I'm not going to tell the police anything of what I've found, or what's happened tonight. As far as I'm concerned, the lady is innocent completely, and Captain Crocker acted only in self defense.”

“You're not going to make us prove that at a trial?” Crocker asked.

“You've just had one,” Phryne told him. “Your young cousin,” she nodded to Mary, “is far more intelligent than most jurors, I'd wager, and she's laid out the case quite clearly. _Vox populi, vox dei_. You are cleared of wrongdoing, in our eyes. You agree, Dot?”

Dot smiled at her. “Yes, Miss.”

“There we are. Dot is quite the supporter of the police force,” she gave Dot a wink, “so if even she agrees, we can be certain it's unanimous.” The couple, still holding hands, looked as if they weren't sure whether to believe her. “You're leaving on your new ship tomorrow, isn't that right, Captain?” She asked.

“Yes. I won't be back for a year or more.” The man seemed truly bewildered by this turn of events. Phryne did so enjoy disconcerting a man, particularly in a good cause.

“Then, here is what I would recommend,” she told them. “I think it's highly unlikely that the police will stumble onto the truth of the matter, and it would be better for the two of you that they do not. Although we believe your story, a jury will be quite a dicey matter in this case, as I'm sure you can appreciate,” Phryne said, warming to her subject. “A year is a long time, however, and things will likely cool down by then. If, however, any news should break in the case, or should suspicions arise against the lady, I'll take what actions I can to protect her. I'll also contact you by emergency telegram, through your employer, so that you can come back and take whatever actions you think necessary. If, in a year, there's no news, then I would suggest you come back to your lady. At that point, it might be more agreeable to both of you to find a new home elsewhere, perhaps America. I hear New York is wonderful.” She gave a smile at Peggy, who smiled back, looking at her with gleaming eyes.

*

She only had the chance to see Peggy once more. After the successful conclusion of the case, and the departure of Captain Crocker's ship, Phryne had lain low for a few days. In fact, Jack had come by once, just to express his incredulity that she wasn't meddling further in the Brackenstall matter. Phryne entertained him graciously and gave him many assurances of her confidence in the official police force. She also managed to ascertain that they didn't have any new leads. It was a most satisfactory conclusion to the whole troubling affair.

The following week, Phryne received a phone call from Peggy Carter, asking if Bert could come pick her up. They sat together for another lovely tea, uninterrupted this time by any lessons or any potential murderers.

“So, you've been called home I take it?” she asked. 

“Yes, Miss,” Peggy told her, sipping from her china cup. “As soon as my mum heard about Sir Eustace's being killed, she sent word that I was to come home straight away. I think she thinks Australia is full of murderers now.”

“If only she knew how handy you were with a gun, she'd be more worried about the murderers.” Phryne smiled, feeling proud. 

When the tea ended and they were saying goodbye, Phryne was taken surprise when Peggy all of a sudden hugged her, hard. She then stepped back, looking a little embarrassed. “It's been a great pleasure meeting you,” Phryne told her, with feeling.

“Yes, you too. And thanks for the tea, and the lessons, and everything.”

“You're quite welcome. And the next time I'm back in England, I'll be sure to look you up and come say hello.”

“Will you really?” The girl's eyes shone. 

“I will,” she said. This girl would need a few more lessons before she was through, Phryne would wager, and it would be a real pleasure to see how she would grow.

Just as Peggy was on the point of going out the door to the waiting car, she stopped. “There's just one thing I don't understand. The whole time, you acted like you knew everything that happened. Even when Captain Crocker looked like he was going to knock you down, you just seemed as cool as a cucumber and acted like you held all the cards.” The girl paused, a frown line appearing between her eyebrows. “You were faking it, weren't you? You  _could_ have been wrong about the whole thing. You only acted like you were one hundred percent sure in order to get him and Cousin Mary to tell the truth.” The girl said the last bit admiringly, like she was impressed with Phryne's audacity.

“You know what, Peggy Carter,” Phryne told her, with great satisfaction. “You'd make a damn good detective some day.”

Peggy smiled at her impishly, and was gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> One person who looked at a draft of this thought it was beyond suspension of disbelief for Phryne to teach a ten year old how to shoot a gun. But, well, this was partly inspired by the fact that my grandfather taught me to shoot a gun at age nine. (Go U.S.A.?) Also, there's a whole backstory of why Peggy is in Australia that I couldn't fit in here, maybe I'll do a prequel? I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoyed. You can find me [on Tumblr](http://jeannetterankin.tumblr.com) to yell at me if not.


End file.
